Chapter 2 - The Arrest in Quarters 14
Brooke Vale let out a high-pitched, undignified shriek like a cornered raccoon, throwing her hands above her head, her knees visibly knocking together as the red laser dots burned against her designer jacket:
“Don't shoot! I’m a civilian! I have rights! This is a private family matter!”
“ON THE GROUND! FACE DOWN! NOW!” Staff Sergeant Hayes bellowed, stepping forward with the heavy shield, shoving Brooke’s shoulder with concussive force!
THUD!
Brooke hit the wet linoleum flat on her stomach, her cheek slamming against the tiles, spitting saliva and tears as two heavily armed military police officers drove tactical combat knees directly between her shoulder blades:
SNAP. CLICK.
The heavy, double-locking steel transport handcuffs ratcheted shut over Brooke’s wrists with two sharp, metallic bites, cinching tight behind her back!
“OW! YOU’RE BREAKING MY WRISTS! MOM, DO SOMETHING!” Brooke wailed, thrashing against the floorboards.
Lenora stepped forward, her tailored wool coat flaring, attempting to summon the haughty, country-club arrogance that had terrorized municipal clerks in Richmond for twenty years:
“How dare you lay hands on my daughter!” Lenora shrieked, pointing an accusatory, manicured finger at Staff Sergeant Hayes. “I am Lenora Vale-Mercer! My family founded the Richmond Heritage Society! My brother sits on the state appellate judiciary! This is a domestic dispute between a father and his estranged daughter! You low-ranking guards have zero jurisdiction over private citizens!”
Staff Sergeant Hayes slowly turned his head.
His dark eyes, cold and scarred by two combat tours in Helmand Province, locked onto Lenora with the terrifying, absolute finality of a naval cannon:
“Ma’am,” Hayes spoke, his voice dropping into an arctic, dangerous register that sucked the air straight out of her lungs.
“You are standing three miles inside the perimeter gates of Marine Corps Base Quantico—a sovereign, restricted federal military reservation.”
Hayes unhooked a set of heavy iron transport restraints from his duty belt:
“Under Title 18 of the United States Code, Section 1382 and Section 111, you have committed Aggravated Armed Trespass on a Military Installation, Felony Burglary of Armed Forces Quarters, and Assault on a Commissioned Officer of the United States Marine Corps.”
SNAP. CLICK.
Before Lenora could take another breath, a female military police officer caught both of her wrists with four hundred pounds of torque, twisting her arms behind her fur coat, snapping cold steel over her diamond bracelets!
Lenora gasped in sheer, paralyzed horror, her pearl necklace breaking under the sudden jerk of her collar, dozens of white pearls scattering across the blood-stained floorboards like falling hail!
My father, Daniel Mercer, backed into the corner near the coat rack, his trench coat soaked through, his face the exact shade of wet oatmeal. He held both hands in the air, his teeth chattering so violently he could barely formulate syllables:
“Officers… please! I didn't touch her! I swear to God, I didn't kick her! My wife told me we were just going to talk about the trust papers! I was just standing by the door!”
Staff Sergeant Hayes didn't even look at him. He motioned to his fourth officer:
“Cuff the father. Accessory to aggravated assault under color of force.”
SNAP. CLICK.
Daniel Mercer was driven against the hallway wall, his forehead pressed flat against the framed portrait of my mother, iron handcuffs clicking over his wrists.
The sound of heavy combat boots approached from the bedroom hallway.
Stepping through the shattered entrance was a Navy trauma corpsman carrying a specialized orange Pelican trauma kit.
The corpsman dropped to both knees beside me on the floor, his hands moving with gentle, clinical precision over my right rib cage:
“Lieutenant Mercer, keep your breathing shallow,” the corpsman instructed, pulling up my sweatpants hem to check peripheral pulses, shining a penlight into my pupils. “Multiple suspected rib fractures on the right lateral margin. Severe blunt-force contusions across the thoracic wall. Possible pulmonary contusion. We need a cervical collar and a rigid spine board right now!”
Staff Sergeant Hayes knelt beside my shoulder, his weathered face softening into profound, protective military reverence:
“Lieutenant Mercer, the Officer of the Day has notified the Base Provost Marshal and Colonel Vance. The ambulance is sixty seconds out.”
Brooke thrashed against the linoleum, her makeup ruined, weeping in raw, hysterical pandemonium:
“Lieutenant…?! What do you mean Lieutenant?! She’s a dropout! She’s an ungrateful orphan who ran away from home!”
Staff Sergeant Hayes stood up to his full six-foot-two height, looking down at the groveling stepsister with cold, unvarnished contempt:
“First Lieutenant Maya Mercer is the Executive Officer of the 1st Marine Intelligence Battalion, young lady,” Hayes stated, his voice ringing across the ruined living room like an artillery shell.
“And the Provost Marshal just notified the United States Attorney’s Office in Alexandria.”
The front double doors of the quarters parted as two Navy paramedics rolled a titanium scoop stretcher into the room.
As they lifted my bruised, broken body onto the foam mattress, I looked past the paramedics’ shoulders at the three handcuffed felons pinned to my floorboards.
Lenora was weeping in ruined humiliation.
Daniel was staring at the floor, unable to meet my eyes.
And Brooke was hyperventilating in sheer terror as the heavy steel shackles bit deep into her skin.
I closed my eyes, a single, quiet tear tracking through the dried blood on my cheek.
May you like
The parasitic mutt was dead.
The First Lieutenant was in command.
